Taken with Emily
by NancyMay
Summary: The next installment of Emily and George. Starts out a bit smutty but hopefully levels out. Emily and George become closer but will someone try to stop them becoming a family with the children she adopted?
1. Chapter 1

It was a dreadful case. Emily and Julia pushed the body back into the freezer and heaved a collective sigh.

"Three, that makes, all the same," Julia picked up the file and took it over to her desk, ready to be written up and handed to Station House 4, "frozen to death."

"But why were they all hidden in the undergrowth?" Emily folded her arms, "it didn't look like any of them had voluntarily crawled into the hedges. Wrapped in sacking and stowed quite deliberately."

"And not dead when it happened," Julia took off her apron and dropped it in the laundry basket.

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Three bodies on three consecutive mornings has been brought into the morgue. All had been hidden under hedges in the park and discovered by dog walkers in the early morning. All were stiff with cold so determining time of death was not easy and all had to be thawed out before the autopsies could be carried out. Their clothes gave nothing away, ordinary trousers and shirts, jackets and hats, not suitable wear for the time of year and the thick snow that had fallen. Detective Murdoch had ordered photographs to be taken and currently the men were showing them to the regular users of the park. So far all they had got for their troubles was fingers and toes numb from the cold as they trudged through the snow and ducked out of the way of snowballs thrown by young boys.

"William thinks they may be here illegally," Julia and Emily sat discussing the case while Julia wrote up her notes, "and when they don't pay up or are not working hard enough they are just left to perish."

"I suppose if they are trafficked then even if they were just let go then they would be able to identify those who are bringing them in," Emily mused, "George says they are going to mount a night patrol in the park and see if they can spot them."

"Hope he wraps up well."

"Mm ..." she nodded shuddering at the thought of where he might decide to warm his hands up. George was still a regular at her home as they navigated their way through a slow courtship. After the children had been put to bed and Rachel had retired to her room to read or mend stockings, she and George would sit in the parlour in front of the fire and get to know each other a little better. Kissing and cuddling and a little petting but not much more. George didn't want to push her too far though she was not averse to a little pushing, "gloves, I think."

Julia giggled from which Emily surmised she had been having much the same thoughts about William and cold hands.

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It was nearly a week before anyone was caught. The patrols up until then had not gleaned any further information and there had been no further bodies found. George, Detective Murdoch and Henry Higgins were now taking it in turns to lead a team of constables patrolling the park areas. At the end of his turn around the park George usually went back to his boarding house but on this particular night he planned to head to Emily's.

They weren't long into their shift when one of the junior constables saw a figure pushing something under the shrubbery. He shouted out and gave chase catching him with an impressive rugby tackle.

"Well done, lad," George congratulated him, slapping him heartily on the back. "Back to the station house with him and we'll send an ambulance for the chap there." One of the other constables had pulled the sack out and untied it, revealing a shivering young man. He had put his heavy great coat around the man and held him to try and bring some warmth to him.

He was taken to the hospital and given a warm bed and hot soup, despite the lateness of the hour. The one who had pushed him under the hedge was taken to be interrogated by William and Inspector Brackenreid.

After giving their accounts of the patrol and the arrest, George's team were sent home, they would learn the reason for the man killing his workers in such a slow and cruel way the following day, for now ...

"You've done well, lads," Brackenreid praised them, "now off you go and find some hot soup or some such warming beverage, you've earned it."

Seeing as it wasn't late, George opted to try and see Emily, she would still be up, he hoped, and that fire threw out some heat.

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She was sitting on the couch, reading. After a cold day in the morgue she had decided to have a hot bath after putting the children to bed and then to sit, in her nightgown and robe, in front of the fire. A tentative knock on the door disturbed her peace but she only knew of one person who would call at that time of night. She carefully marked her place in the book and went to let him in.

"Emily," he grinned, "we got him!"

"Well done!" she shut the winter weather out, it was snowing again and George had a covering on his shoulders, "you must be perished."

"'Tis indeed a chill night," he agreed, fumbling with numb fingers to undo his coat buttons.

"Hot chocolate by the fire?" she smiled and swiftly undid the buttons.

"Lovely," he kissed her cheek with his cold lips.

"George!" she hissed, "you're freezing!"

She flounced off in the direction of the kitchen, giggling. He followed and watched her pour milk and cocoa into the saucepan and stir it over the heat.

"So, what happened?" she asked.

He told her how the young constable had given chase and caught the man, and that the almost victim had been saved and taken to the hospital.

"The Inspector and Detective Murdoch are speaking to him now," he wrapped his arms round her, from behind.

"George Crabtree!" she scolded, "do you want to drink this or wear it!"

"I want to get warm," he nuzzled her neck, "and you're the warmest thing here."

With difficulty she managed to pour the steaming hot drink into two mugs. She shrugged away his now not quite so cold arms and they went into the parlour, the heat settling over them like a warm blanket. He sat in a chair by the fire and she sat on the rug, between his knees. They sat in silence, sipping the hot chocolate and watching the fire, or at least, Emily did. George observed her over the rim of his mug. Her hair was simply caught in a pale ribbon and hung down her back in dark waves. Her robe was of pale blue wool edged with satin and tied with a satin sash. Between the edges he could see her white nightgown and peeping from the ends of the sleeves of the robe, a lace frill fell over her wrists. It was a measure of her feelings for him that she would allow him, who was not her husband or related to her in any way, to see her in her night clothes. She heard him put his mug down and tipped her head to look at him.

"Better?"

"Mm," he bent down and kissed her, "getting there," he smiled cheekily and took her, empty, mug off her.

He undid the rest of the buttons on his uniform jacket and slid down to sit with her and hold her close. Under the jacket that still felt cold, he was warm and she nuzzled close.

She felt soft in his arms, where he usually encountered the firm corset she had resumed wearing, he now felt her softness, her ribs moving in and out with every breath she took. He tipped her face to his and they melted into a long kiss, tasting the chocolate each had drunk, their tongues creating their own dance, sliding over each other. She wriggled further up his torso to ease the bend in her neck, feeling his obvious desire pressing into her hip.

He slipped one hand down to undo the sash of her robe and cupped her breast. All that was usually encased in whalebone and layers was now there for him to feel under one layer of fine cotton. There was quite a lot of the cotton but he was able to push it so it was a light layer through which he could feel the hard pearl of her nipple.

She moaned into his mouth hoping he wasn't going to think ill of her, but she felt ready to do more than kiss and cuddle. She started to undo the buttons on his shirt and under shirt which startled him and he quickly put his hand over hers.

"Emily," he whispered, "are you sure?"

"Only if you won't think badly of me," she blushed, "I don't usually undress my suitors quite so, er, readily, if at all."

"Never," he kissed her on the tip of her nose, and wondered yet again, how far she had gone with her fiancé or Leslie Garland.

The truth was she had never gone far at all. Her fiancé had insisted they wait until the wedding night, and that never happened, his kisses were chaste and he constantly put her down. Leslie Garland would have bedded her in an instant but she had always worried he would then go on to tell anyone who would listen that she was of easy virtue and Lillian had only pleasured herself, there were times she was frustrated, very frustrated indeed. She trusted George not to hurt her or brag about how far they had gone, and she was fairly sure she loved him, her feelings for him were deep, so, yes, she wanted this.

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George got up and grabbed cushions off the couch and chairs and placed them on the rug then went back to lie down with Emily in front of the fire. He placed a cushion under her head and pulled her into a kiss. She surrendered herself to his touch, let him undo the buttons at the front of her nightgown and ghost his thumb over her nipple, weigh her breast in the palm of his hand where it fitted perfectly. Her eyes were closed as he started to kiss her neck, move slowly down to where he could leave marks that would be hidden by her blouse the next day. She arched her back and tipped her head back as he took her breast and sucked at the nipple, she gasped and moaned with pleasure and pushed his shirt off, feeling the strength of his muscles under his smooth skin. She pushed her mound against the tenting in his trousers and felt George's hand slip down over her bottom and his fingers start to ruche her nightgown up. She shivered with anticipation as his hand stroked her bare thigh and his tongue did unseemly things to her breast. She could barely breathe.

He kneaded her buttock gently and let his fingers start to slip round her thigh. She was completely naked under the nightgown, his way was unhindered as he found the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. She raised her knee enough to part her legs a little, enough for him to slip his hand between them and find her wet and swollen, ready for him. He moved his fingers over her folds and to her entrance, she jerked against him and worked her fingers over the buttons of his trousers and undershorts. She knew what she would find, she was a doctor, a pathologist, had seen naked men before but they were always dead and their member flaccid. She pushed his trousers and drawers down and wrapped her small hand round his erection, hot and hard, twitching. She had to let go as he pushed the nightgown up and over her head, leaving her lying naked on her robe. To him she was a glorious sight, soft skin, small neat breasts and flat stomach and the triangle that he was slipping his fingers through and down, over her slippery folds and just into her entrance. She bucked against his hand and he pushed her onto her back and leaned over her. He parted her legs and settled between them, his member against her mound.

"Please," she gasped, "George, I want ..."

"Shh," he leant down and set his mouth against hers, sliding his tongue in and adjusting himself so the tip of his erection was lined up ready to enter her. She guided him in as she raised her hips to meet him and he pushed slowly into her and waited. She gulped as she felt him stretch her then move gently at first. It hurt, a little, but she wanted more and together they found a rhythm. He pushed harder into her, increasing the pace and she matched him until he was pounding into her, flesh slapping flesh and then she was falling into an abyss of pleasure as she climaxed with a shout she muffled in his mouth. He followed her almost immediately and stayed there, her muscles tight around him.

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Curled up on the rug, her robe now wrapped round her, Emily started to drift off to sleep, sated and warm in George's arms. He knew he couldn't stay, the children and Rachel should not see Emily like this, even if he joined her in her bed.

"Come on," he whispered, "bed for you, and home for me," he sighed.

"George?" she pouted.

"I can't stay, sweetheart, much as I want to, Rachel, the children ... not until we are married, that's if you want to get married." He hoped so, he didn't want their relationship to be a succession of stolen moments, frantic couplings on the hearthrug.

"If you'll have me," she snuggled close.

"It's what I want, I had thought of it, before ..."

She put her fingers on his lips, "Our roads parted but somehow they seem to have come back together, again."

"Indeed they have," he smiled and kissed the finger, "come on, put this nightgown back on." He lifted the garment, raising an eyebrow at the blood spots on the robe underneath that Emily had lain on.

"Emily?" he tipped her face to his, "you should have said, I would have been gentle."

"You were," she blushed, "I ... Jerome said we had to wait until we were married, if I wanted to be elevated to his level, not be a farm girl and rut in the hay barn ..."

"Emily," he was shocked, "you are much better than he, money doesn't make you higher than another, it is who you are, kind and sweet, strong ... I'll take the farm girl, any day," he smiled.

"I wouldn't with Leslie, I thought he might spread tales about me ..."

"Highly likely, now," he held the nightgown and dropped it over her head, "we shall talk soon, later today, perhaps ..."

"You don't think the worst of me?"

"That would be hypocritical of me," he stroked her face, "what's sauce for the goose ... " he started to pull on his clothes, "I love you, Emily Grace."

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She watched him saunter down the path and head on to his boarding house and smiled. She hadn't planned the evening to seduce him, and she hadn't, but what had happened was that she had found out that she didn't want anyone but George because he was genuine, real. He didn't care where she came from, or her past relationships he just cared for her.

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George lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. He had always assumed Emily was high born, but she had let slip about being a farm girl. She must have worked really hard to become a doctor, Jerome Bradley had nothing on her, he was high born but low in his thought and deed towards her. Thank goodness she had seen the light and called off the wedding. Wedding, they had to sort that out, and he should get her a ring ... so much to do. He drifted off to sleep wondering if her parents would want to meet him.

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There was little time for private conversations over the next few days, with the case to be finalised and other work coming up, it was a week later that he called round for dinner, invited by Peter on his way home from school, and they could talk after the children were in bed.

It wasn't an easy conversation to start, but George started it, firstly about an engagement ring.

"I mean, Emily, if we are engaged then I should rather like people to know it," he stroked her ring finger.

"Do you have something in mind?" she snuggled close and lay her head on his chest.

"I thought we should go out together, to look at some rings. I know what I like but you are the one wearing it," he kissed the top of her head. "Another thing, do you think I should ask your father's permission?"

"To marry me?" she lifted her head, "well it is the right thing but even if he said 'no', which he won't," she added quickly, "I will still marry you. Shall we go up one weekend, stay over? The children like it, though it isn't the weather for running around in the fields."

"Perhaps wait until next month?"

"Perhaps," she sighed, "until then we can start to plan, can't we?"

"I suppose we should, a summer wedding, it might be busy in the churches, then," he looked at her.

"It's ok, George, we don't have to rush, if I've worried you, we're safe this time," she referred to the lack of precautions they had taken that evening on the hearthrug. She thought he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Perhaps I should carry some protection with me, when I come over," he winked, "that hearthrug is tempting."

She giggled and leaned up to kiss him, "it is, isn't it?"

In between kisses they chose the church they would like to be married in, who they wanted to attend and what roles the children would have.

"I wonder if the Detective would be my best man," he mused, she was sitting on his knee and her wriggling was causing a predictable reaction.

"Or Henry, you were his when he married Ruth," she smirked knowing she was being somewhat unfair, to tempt him this way.

"Mm," he slipped his hand inside her blouse that she didn't notice he had opened. She covered his hand with hers.

"That's as far as you go, as I said, we got away with it last time," she leant against him and sighed.

"Ah," he kissed the hand, "gotcha."

She supposed she was glad he had experience with women, at least he knew what she was intimating.

He left sometime after, with the wedding practically planned, they just had to ask the priest at the church if there was a day free that they could book and ask their chosen supporters if they could attend. It wouldn't be a lavish affair, George was mindful that her father was a farmer and probably not wealthy. He'd jokingly said he would marry her in the hay barn if they could.

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By the time they visited her parents they still hadn't finalised the arrangements. They couldn't find a church available that would cater for her Catholic beliefs and George's Protestant upbringing. One or the other would have to convert and that would take time, and neither thought it was that important, they were both Christians. Perhaps the hay barn would be the venue, after all.

Emily's father, Thaddeus Grace, looked George up and down and decided he was a darn sight better than Jerome, taller and stronger looking and, as a copper, safer hands, he thought. Better career prospects too. They shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," George grinned his lop sided grin, "the children have told me a lot about you."

Thaddeus grunted and ruffled Peter's hair.

"George wrote a book, grandfather," Peter waved the volume at him, "and it's got a ded ... dedi ... er ..." he looked at Emily for help.

"Dedication, dear," Emily smiled.

"That ... to me" his eyes widened, "look," he showed the front to him.

"Ah," Thaddeus nodded, "an author as well, eh?"

"I dabble," George nodded modestly, "once or twice."

"Don't keep 'em on the doorstep," Emily's mother, Lucy, came through, wiping her hands on her apron, "where's my girl?" She looked around and then smiled, "ah, there you are, Ruthie, hiding again." She opened her arms and Ruthie ran into them. She was lifted onto Lucy's hip and hugged tight.

It impressed George that they had taken the children to their hearts, Emily had told him it was so, and here was proof. They may be farmers but their hearts were as big as Ontario.

They drank tea in the front parlour and talked about the children and how Peter was getting on at school until George asked if he could speak to Emily's father, alone.

"Walk with me, lad," Thaddeus stood up and took his cane.

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Outside they wandered towards the fields.

"I expect you know what I want to speak to you about, sir," George looked out over the expanse of land the Graces owned.

"Taken with our Emily, aren't you?"

"Sir, indeed I am, she's something very special, to me," he nodded.

""She's special to us, too, our only child, so you see ..."

"You want to know how I will treat her," George turned to his future father in law.

"No trying to change her, that's all I ask." Thaddeus huffed, "if she ain't good enough as she is, then ..."

"She's better," George stated firmly. "She's clever, gentle and strong, smarter ..."

"Good, then that's ok," he turned, "fancy a beer?"

George had expected more of a grilling so it was a second or two before he realised he had her father's permission, he nodded, "I'd like that very much, sir."

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They spent a happy weekend discussing the wedding.

"Why not ask our priest?" Lucy paused in passing vegetables around the table, "you could get married in the town and then have a celebration here, wouldn't be the first time the hay barn has been used for a party."

George and Emily looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"What?" Lucy's eyes widened.

"George did suggest he marry me in the hay barn, as we couldn't find anyone to marry us," Emily took the vegetables and put a spoonful on Ruthie's plate. "But you could have something there, Father O'Brien is a bit more relaxed."

"Church in the morning, then, Emily?" George smiled.

"Alright," she turned to helping the children with their food.

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Father O'Brien had a wicked twinkle in his eye, George decided. He teased Emily for being absent from church so many times, "Too grand for us now you're in the big city, eh?"

"Now you know that's not true, Father," she laughed, "but we have a question to ask you, a favour, if you will."

"Go ahead, child," he pulled her back inside the church, now empty of the worshippers.

"George and I want to get married, but no church will marry us in Toronto, George is Protestant, you see," she reached out to take George's hand.

"I see, I heard the engagement to young Bradley was over," he pursed his lips and turned to George, "not because if you, I hope young man."

"No sir, indeed not," George slipped his arm round Emily's waist.

"Absolutely nothing to do with George," she reassured the priest, "I came to realise he was controlling. George was, until last year when I decided to come home from London, a dear friend. It's only since I returned that he has become more."

"Well, then," Father O'Brien tipped his head, "I don't see why you can't be married here, it just won't be a full Catholic Wedding Mass."

"I think we can cope, Father," Emily smiled.

So arrangements were made and a date set. It being summer when it would take place, Emily's parents suggested that they did indeed use the hay barn to celebrate afterwards.

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When they got back to Toronto Emily noticed Peter was a little quieter than usual. He had watched and listened to his mother and grandparents, and George, and wondered what this meant for him and Ruthie.

She put Ruthie to bed and joined him and George in the parlour. He was now allowed to stay up a little later and if George was there he would tell him a story. Emily watched them from the doorway they had grown quite close but she did wonder if the little boy was worried that when she and George married the changes would mean he wasn't wanted.

"Peter?" she stepped across the room and sat on the couch, "you alright?"

He looked at her and sighed.

"You and George are getting married," he muttered.

"Yes, love, we are," she smiled and held her hand out to him, "but ... it doesn't mean I love you any less, or Ruthie."

"We both love you," George moved to sit next to Emily, "very much, Peter, and whatever happens you will always be our first son, our top boy."

Emily watched Peter mulling this over, it would appear he would take a little more convincing.

"The only thing that will change is that George will live here, with us," she hugged him, "and think of all the extra stories, not just when he comes over for dinner."

George grimaced at this and wondered if he should revive the 'Jumping Jack stories', the first issue had received good reviews and children love picture books, in fact ...

"I wrote a couple of stories, Jumping Jack," he put his arm round both the boy and Emily, "perhaps you could help me come up with ideas for something else, Jumping Jack caused a bit of bother."

"Really," Peter's eyebrows shot up, "how?"

"Er, well he rather inspired a thief one Christmas," George blushed, "he had a lot of gadgets to help him get around quickly - perhaps you could come up with a better character, someone your friends would be interested in."

Peter giggled that a police officer had inspired a criminal but liked that George would ask for his help.

"My friends like the stories for boys you wrote, Jacob got a copy and our teacher has read some in class, if we've been good."

"Capital!" George gave them a little squeeze, "so, no more worries?"

"I guess not," Peter shook his head.

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"I suppose he had to worry a little," Emily mused, "so much has happened to him in his short life, it's only to be expected."

"True, but I hope we have put his worries to rest," George sat back on the couch and put his arm along the back, "we just need to keep an eye on him."

"Well, I did warn you," she leant into his embrace, "I come with extras."

"Lucky me," he kissed her head ...

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This time the invitations did go out and a good number of acceptances were received.

George didn't know what to do about his best man. He considered Detective Murdoch his best friend but as Emily had said he was Henry's best man.

"Why don't you have them both, as supporters," Emily suggested one evening, "Henry's bound to lose the ring, anyway, you know what he's like."

George thought about this, it would indeed solve his dilemma, "I'll speak to them, though I might leave out the bit about Henry and the ring. Are you having a bridesmaid?"

"No, I have asked Julia to help Ruthie be a flower girl, and Peter a page boy, that way they will both be involved and it will help Peter with his worries."

"Ah, that explains it," he nodded.

"What?"

"Dr Ogden's frequent appearances, I thought she was chaperoning us," he winked.

"Silly," she batted his chest, "I just thought she would be able to encourage Ruthie down the aisle, if she's at the front with mum and dad."

"Can't your mother do it?"

"She'll be too busy crying," Emily laughed, "she always cries at weddings."

"Perhaps we should have eloped, then," he teased.

"Honestly, George," she rolled her eyes, "what _am_ I going to do with you?"

"I've got a few ideas," he raised his eyebrows.

"I bet you have."

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George sauntered back to his boarding house much later. Two weeks hence he would not be leaving after dinner and 'afters', two weeks hence they would be married and he would be staying. Peter was more relaxed now and Ruthie was finding her voice and requesting stories at bedtime, for her.

There were few people out at that time of night and those that were abroad were heading home. A sharp shout from his left had him turn and smile as a woman harangued her husband for taking a drop too much. There was a loud bang and he crumpled to the floor...


	2. Chapter 2

Everything seemed muffled, distant, foggy. His shoulder hurt but he managed to push himself into a sitting position. He looked down and in the dim glow of a street light he saw blood leaving a dark shadow on his jacket. He blinked. He knew, in the back of his mind and outside of the pain, that he was nearer Emily's house than any hospital, he wasn't sure he would make it but he would give it his best shot. Ironic, he thought, given what had just happened.

He lurched down the street, anyone coming towards him avoided him, presuming him to be drunk.

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Rachel had just got up to get a drink of water when she heard the door knocker. Who could be calling at this time of night. She looked into Miss Emily's room and saw she was in her bed. Leaving her to sleep she went down the stairs.

"Who is it?" she asked, hesitantly.

"George," he spluttered, "Rachel? Help," his last word was barely audible.

She flung open the door and shrieked.

"Constable!" she caught him as he fell forward, "doctor!" she screamed, "Emily!"

In her bed Emily sat up suddenly and blinked. She was sure she had just heard Rachel scream but ...

"Emily!"

It _was_ what she heard and not coming from up in her room, no, it was coming from the hallway. She didn't even bother with her robe but flew down the stairs and stopped. In front of her George was draped over Rachel who could barely hold him up.

"What?" she was momentarily frozen.

"I think he's been shot," Rachel gasped from under her burden.

"Parlour," Emily went to them and between them they got him onto the couch.

"I need my bag, water - boil it please - and then call Dr Ogden. I don't think he should be moved further."

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She worked quickly to cut his jacket and shirt off and expose the wound. The bullet appeared to have gone straight through and the bleeding had slowed.

Julia appeared at her shoulder, saw where she was up to and wordlessly stepped in to help. They stitched the wound and dressed it and temporarily strapped his arm to his side.

"Just for the night," Julia said, "he can wear a sling during the day. Now, where to take him."

"Nowhere, here at least for the rest of the night," Emily stood up, finished at last, "I don't think he should be moved just now," she turned to Rachel, "can you bring down some bed linen and a couple of pillows, please."

"Yes, doctor," she turned and headed out of the room, glad to have something more to do than bring bowls of boiled water. She found Peter standing outside the room.

"Lad, what're you doing here?" she turned him round by his shoulders, "bed, quick before your mum finds you."

"Is he alright?" Peter glanced back into the room, though from his vantage point he couldn't see much.

"He will be," she reassured him, hoping she was right.

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"Emily," Julia took her hand, "are you alright?"

"I ... I ..." tears slowly made their way down her cheeks, "oh, god, Julia, what if ..." she put her hand over her mouth to stop the sob, but it didn't work and Julia took her into her arms and let her sob her fears away. Adrenalin had kept her going until now, that and sheer professionalism, but now her emotions were taking over.

"Sh ..." she soothed, "you've done a wonderful job, he'll be fine, George is made of tough stuff."

"Help me get him ready, I'll stay with him." Emily shrugged herself away from the comfort of Julia's arms and started to remove his trousers and boots. "I don't have anything to dress him in, so ..." she pulled his trousers off as carefully as she could, "undershorts it is."

Julia raised her eyebrows but she supposed she was right, he would be uncomfortable in wool trousers. When Rachel brought the sheets and blankets in they covered him and settled him on pillows, just as he came round.

"Em ...?"

"You're safe," she placed her hand gently on his chest, "the wound has stopped bleeding but you must keep your arm still."

He turned his head and winced as the stitches pulled.

"William and Station House 4 are looking into this, George," Julia came into his line of sight, "but who would do this?"

He would have shrugged his shoulders if he could but he couldn't so he just shook his head gently. As far as he knew no one was out for his blood at the moment and they had no ongoing cases that included random shootings or murders.

"Get some rest, both of you," she smiled, "William will call in the morning and we'll see where we can put you to recover. You have a wedding to go to."

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He woke to the usual morning sounds of the Grace household: Rachel in the kitchen, the children moving around and chattering. He turned his head slowly and saw Emily asleep in one of the chairs brought next to the couch. She must have been there since ...

He remembered falling over Rachel then nothing until he awoke on the couch and Emily and Dr Ogden were standing over him.

Rachel cleared her throat and he turned to see her with a tray of tea and a small smile of relief on her face.

"How are you feeling?" she whispered.

"Sore," he smiled back, "but I'm alive so ... hello Top Boy," he grinned to see Peter standing in the doorway, a worried look on his face.

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Tea and toast did much to restore George and Peter. Emily left them so she could dress and prepare for the day, but she doubted she would be leaving the house. Rachel would walk Peter to school so she could stay and see to George. She needed to check the wound for any signs of infection and wait for the Detective to arrive to question George. She had come so close to losing him and the mere thought had tears coursing down her cheeks. She allowed herself a little time in the shower, letting the warm water flow over her and soothe her aching neck - the fireside chairs were not the best to spend the night in.

When she reappeared in the parlour, properly dressed and her damp hair tied off her face with a pale blue ribbon he was sitting up. She raised an eyebrow.

"Rachel brought me some water and soap," he held out his free hand to her, "need a shave though."

"I'll ask someone to bring your things over," she perched on the edge of the couch and held his hand.

"Right," he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, "I'm ok, Emily, thanks to you, Detective Murdoch will find out who, and why ... it's the life I lead, sweetheart ..."

"I know, and I wouldn't have you any other way, you are you, the man I fell in love with," she leaned into his touch, "perhaps the detective can design a vest to stop bullets for you."

"He did once, to prove Roger Newsome wasn't dead ..."

"Ah yes, of the Mimico Newsome's," she added some levity to the situation, "you wrote ..." when he showed his confusion.

"Indeed."

Their moment was interrupted by the arrival of Detective Murdoch and Dr Ogden, with Henry close behind.

"Sitting up?" Julia questioned.

"And that's as far as he goes," Emily replied sternly.

"Right, well, shall we check the wound Dr Grace?"

As they took off the dressing they could see the bruising and the neat stitching. Murdoch asked if he could say which direction the shot had come from.

"We know where you were, there is still blood on the path," he watched George think.

"We, sir," he started, "I was heading away from here and it has hit my right shoulder, there are trees to the right and shrubbery so my guess is from that direction."

"The bullet went right through, surely if they were close enough for that then you would have seen them?"

"Well, sir, I was distracted, some poor chap was being admonished by his wife for having taken a drop or two," George smiled at the memory.

"And you haven't had any threats by letter or any other way?"

"No sir, Emily?"

"Nothing here," she finished re-dressing the wound and setting his arm in a sling, "do you think it is something personal?" She turned to look at the Detective.

"A shooting is always personal, doctor," he mused, "no I was wondering if it was something to do with the two of you, in fact, I am going to suggest that Peter is escorted to and from school by a constable ..."

"William!" Julia was shocked, "surely not."

"I am not prepared to take any chances, Julia," he straightened his shoulders, "and George is well known in the city."

"You're thinking a previous ... lady friend," Emily pursed her lips, "jealousy is a powerful emotion."

"Miss Bloom is in Paris so I think we can discount her," William started.

"William," Julia put her hand on his arm, "it's a bit much, discussing George's past liaisons in front of his fiancée."

"It's alright, Julia, I know all about them. It won't be Edna, it would be too dangerous for her to re-enter the city, so that leaves Louise Cherry." Emily finished the list for him.

"We didn't part on the best of terms," George sighed.

Henry was sent to start the search in the area, William phoned the Station House to arrange another constable to escort Peter to and from school, with Rachel and he would join Henry in the search.

"I'll go over to your boarding house, Constable," Julia suggested, "get your things then we can think of somewhere you can stay, until the wedding."

"He goes nowhere," Emily huffed, "not yet, anyway."

"Emily, I'll be fine," George soothed, "I don't want people talking about you, and they will."

She harrumphed but was touched by his thought for her reputation.

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While everybody went to their duties and Peter went to school, Station House 4 was abuzz with the news that George had been shot.

Inspector Brackenreid was angry that one of his officers was apparently targeted. Crabtree may be annoying at times but he was a good copper and Brackenreid would back him to the hilt. He was glad he was going to settle down with Dr Grace, she was a good woman and the little tykes she had adopted were growing into fine children. He was especially fond of the little girl having sons himself.

He looked round at the rest of his team and wondered who could be charged with keeping him safe until the wedding. Most lived in a boarding house or some such lodging, Murdoch and Dr Ogden had their own home but they were usually out during the day and Higgins' missus would drive him round the bend, twittering on and fussing. He sighed, Margaret was more sensible. She would see he was fed and kept comfortable and she wouldn't mind if Emily and the children called by. He picked up the phone and put a call through to Dr Grace's home.

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Emily was touched at the Inspector's offer, that George should stay with his family until the wedding, or until they had caught the shooter. She was still happy for him to stay with her, though sleeping arrangements would be difficult. Peter had offered his bed, saying he could share with Ruthie for a short while. Emily had smiled and ruffled his hair saying it was very sweet of him but it wouldn't be necessary. George had watched her and fervently hoped she wasn't thinking of her bed, or if she was that she would sleep with one of the children or even with him. He knew how big the house was and there wasn't a guest room, and he refused to put her in the line of gossip.

"It's the best idea," he put his arm round her, "Mrs Brackenreid won't let anyone come anywhere near me, she's as tenacious as the Inspector. And he did say you and the children will be welcome any time."

"I'm not worried about the gossip, George," she huffed, "the times you have left here at night, or even the early hours," she smiled, "have given them enough fuel and so far nothing has come to my ears."

"Maybe not, but the lads will know and they will twitter, they can be worse than women, present company excepted."

Her shoulders dropped in acceptance, she supposed he was right, but she didn't like letting him out of her sight if there was an assassin out there determined to end his life. Though if there was she thought they were probably a rotten shot, a fact she was grateful for.

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George stayed at the Brackenreids for just over a week. Margaret was generous to Emily and invited her and the children to dine with them most evenings, then Rachel would take the children home, escorted in a carriage by the Inspector, and Emily and George were given the privacy of the parlour until the Inspector took her home by carriage.

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The search for evidence did not take long, but the search for the perpetrator took longer.

Henry and a young constable found a rifle hidden in the branches of a tree, strategically placed to avoid the eye. They took it in to Detective Murdoch who set about looking for finger marks.

"Higgins," Brackenreid called across from his office, "get round to the gun makers, see if they have any records of selling a Springfield rifle."

"Sir," Henry bustled off to make his search.

"Any luck with the finger marks, Murdoch?" Brackenreid strode into the Detective's office.

"Only one I could get a clean print off," William sighed, "the rest were smudged, probably on purpose."

"Someone who knows your methods, then."

"Sir," he nodded.

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Higgins returned over two hours later. He had trawled the city for gun makers and sellers, some not quite on the right side of the law. He had three bills of sale all for the sale of a Springfield rifle to a woman.

"Think this is the most likely, sir," he waved one, "buyer matches the description of Miss Cherry."

"And the others?"

"Well, sir, one was off into the wilds and wanted a reliable firearm, the other was a cattle farmer and was having trouble with rustlers ..."

"She'll be have trouble with us if she kills a rustler," Brackenreid grunted, "carry on."

"The other, the one that sounds more like Miss Cherry, didn't give a reason for wanting a rifle, paid cash but looked like she knew what to do with it."

"Bugger," he grumbled, "right go and find her and bring her in for questioning."

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Louise Cherry had seemingly gone to ground. The Toronto Telegraph said she had gone to do an in depth story on the residents of Mimico - something about how the other half lives, the editor huffed.

"We thought she would be a good catch, as a journalist, but all she brings is sensationalism - we're not a ladies magazine," he turned back to perusing a piece to be set on the front page.

"When did she go?" Henry stood poised with his notebook.

"Day or so ago," the editor shrugged, "why?"

"Oh just wanted to speak to her, in relation to an incident," Henry tucked his notebook away, "just thought, as a journalist who's been around the station house before ..."

"Well, I'll send her to you when she gets back."

Not even Henry was convinced she'd gone to Mimico, he, like the others in Station House 4, thought it was likely a ruse, still the Inspector sent a couple of constables to have a look.

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With only days to go before the wedding it was decided that George should move to Emily's parents. Her mother would ensure his continued recovery and Thaddeus was a good shot should anyone come calling that didn't have his best interests at heart. Peter and Ruthie could go as well leaving Emily to work without worrying. She would go over two days before the big day. The house was big enough for the couple to be kept apart the morning of the wedding so they could keep to tradition.

"Doctor," Rachel broke through her musing, "I need to do the final fitting of your dress," she held up the garment, "it's all but done."

"Right, I suppose we'd better get it done," she stood up, "you've done miracles with it."

Emily had chosen to wear her mother's dress but it was so old fashioned it needed quite a bit of re-styling. Rachel had taken the bodice from the skirt and remodelled it in line with current fashion. It fitted to the waist, with a square neckline, elbow length full sleeves which ended with a lace frill. The skirt fell gently to the floor with a slight train at the back. The colour was not white but off-white - not quite cream or ecru. It suited Emily, contrasting nicely with her dark hair. She had chosen not to wear a veil, but a fine twisted coronet of flowers round her head and tiny rosebuds pinned into her hair.

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With the dress carefully folded with tissue paper and stowed in a trunk, two suitcases, one for Emily and one for Rachel the two ladies set out for the farm and the wedding.

Emily had spoken to George over the phone and to the children but she had missed their physical presence so much. The house had been too quiet and he didn't pop down to the morgue for a quick kiss when the Inspector wasn't looking, but now she could barely wait to see him. Her mother had said he was healing well and had nearly regained full movement of his arm but, she had whispered as if George was eavesdropping on her conversation, "I don't think he'll be up to carrying you across the threshold, darling."

Emily had giggled at that but it had helped to soothe her frazzled nerves as Miss Cherry had not yet been tracked down.

George and the children were waiting at the bottom of the drive to the farmhouse. Much as he would have liked to greet his fiancée alone, he knew the children had missed her greatly so he reconciled himself to hopefully spending much of the following day with her, perhaps take a stroll together.

As Emily got down to greet her family the children hurled themselves at her, wrapping their arms round her waist and hugging her.

"Hello you two," she smiled and bent to kiss their heads, "I have missed you." she looked up and smiled at George, "and you two, George," she held out a hand to him, "how are you?"

"Much recovered," he took her hand and kissed it, "and so happy to see you."

Emily turned and told Rachel to head on up to the house in the buggy, she would walk with them. She took George's arm and the children bounced ahead of her, telling of the things they had done with their grandparents, helping in the fields and being taken on horseback round the farm.

"And you, George, how have you spent the days? Riding, farming?" she looked up and smiled at him.

"A little riding, but I used the time and the location to start another book, the air seems to want it," he leant down and kissed her cheek.

"So, not only a brave police officer, I shall be the wife of a successful author," she teased, "and I shall be proud to be so."

"All I want, Emily, is to be able to provide for you and the children," he blushed a little, "you deserve the best I can give."

She stopped and turned to him, "I don't know what I've done to deserve you, George, but we shall work together to be the best to each other and the children. I am so looking forward to being a proper family with you."

He drew her to him into a long kiss that had Peter rolling his eyes and Ruthie giggle. They were quite used to seeing them kiss, now, and had grown to like the warm feeling it gave them. This was the only way they had seen George touch their mother, he had never raised a hand to her, or to them, it was so different to their memories of London.

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"Mum's here!" Peter barrelled into the kitchen with his sister.

"I gathered as much," Lucy laughed at her grandchildren, "so's Rachel. She's upstairs putting things away."

Peter and Ruthie ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to greet the housekeeper that was more a friend than anything else. They ran into her room and wrapped their arms round her from behind.

"Hey, steady on, you two," she laughed, "I nearly dropped your mum's dress," she hugged them tight. "I hope you've been good for your grandparents."

"Aha," Peter nodded, "is that for mum to get married in?"

"It is, do you like it?"

"Um I guess so," he frowned, it didn't look much, hanging on a hanger.

"It'll look better on her," Rachel ruffled his hair.

"Pretty," Ruthie jumped up and down, grinning.

"Indeed, there are also special things for you to wear," she held up a smart suit for Peter and a pretty blue dress for Ruthie. The dress was smocked across the breast and had a pretty embroidered round collar. The sleeves were short and gathered into a frill and it would fall to just below her knees. Ruthie's mouth formed an 'O' of surprise, Peter just shrugged. Rachel laughed at him and wondered how long it would take for him to put holes in the knees of the trousers.

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Lucy watched her daughter and future son in law over dinner. He was ever attentive and she was careful with his shoulder. There was no doubt that the two adored each other and she hoped they would have as happy a life as she and Thaddeus had had. She was enormously proud of Emily, as was her husband but had never sought to control who she married. George loved her for who she was, they could see that, and while he had stayed with them he had asked about her as a child and laughed at the stories of her playing in the fields and helping as best she could at harvest time.

"Though she could be often found with her nose in a book as well," she laughed.

"She is indeed an intelligent and clever woman," he nodded, "I am fortunate to find such a woman that would look at a mere policeman."

"Oh, George, " she had reached over and touched his hand, "you are so much more than a 'mere policeman', you write, very well, I have read your 'Curse of the Pharaohs'' book and it was very good, a compelling read."

"That is most kind of you to say so," he blushed.

"And Peter loves your book of adventure stories," she added.

"So it seems," he agreed, "his friend also has a copy and his teacher has read some out to the class."

"There you are, then, more than a policeman, an author too," she laughed and raised her glass of sherry to him. "Welcome to the family, George, we are most glad to have you."

"And I am most glad to be part of it," he raised his glass of beer and they toasted good fortune.

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	3. Chapter 3

The day before the wedding was filled with excitement, busy-ness and preparation.

Lucy had insisted on preparing the wedding breakfast with the help of their close friends from the town, Thaddeus and the farm workers finished setting up the hay barn for the celebration with the children running around fetching and carrying small things to decorate the barn, the tables and chairs.

George and Emily were told that for the day they were surplus to requirements and should take a picnic and keep out of the way.

Emily pouted at her mother and teased her that it was her wedding day and she seemed to have no say in the way it would be celebrated.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Thaddeus smiled, "it will be a day you will never forget, your mother is in her element and she loves you far too much to spoil the day with her needs."

George offered her his arm and picked up the basket of food and drink, "Come on, Emily, let's go and find somewhere secluded and shaded for our picnic."

Emily pretended to flounce out but had an idea for the perfect spot for a picnic, secluded, quite out of sight of the rest of the farm.

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She flopped down under a tree by a creek and pulled George down with her. The basket landed with a thud and spilled a hunk of bread out onto the grass.

George picked it up and brushed it off as she laughed and took it out of his hand.

"It'll be fine," she dropped it back into the basket, "I've dropped many a victual here and I'm fine."

"As a child?"

"Of course," she leant back against the tree, "and," she lifted her skirts and started to roll down her stockings, "paddled in the creek, barefoot."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, George!" she tucked the hem of her skirt into her waistband and jumped into the water, squealing as the cold made her toes tingle.

He heaved a sigh and started to remove his shoes and socks and roll his trousers up.

"Hurry up! Slowcoach!" she threw handfuls of ice cold water at him.

They splashed water at each other, shrieked and laughed, kissed and hugged until they were quite drenched.

Emily took off her wet skirt and petticoat and draped it over a branch of the tree. She followed this with her blouse and lay down on the ground in her corset, camisole and drawers.

"Shocked?" she opened her eyes wide at George standing there, open mouthed.

"We're out in the open," he gasped, "and you ..."

"We are quite private here, George," she held out her hand to him, "well away from the farm, hidden from view - my sanctuary, please, come lie with me."

"I'm soaked," he swallowed.

"So ..." she waved her hand at her clothes, drying in the late morning sun.

As he removed his waistcoat and trousers he thought how brave and free this woman he was betrothed to was, and he loved her for it.

They lay side by side, holding hands and not speaking.

"George," her voice broke the silence, "I love you."

It was so simple, such gentle words and it meant so much to him.

"I love you too, Em," he murmured and turned onto his side, to face her and ran his hand up her arm. It made her shiver with anticipation.

They made love, right there, under the tree. Free and joyous love until they were both sated and sleepy.

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George woke first, the rumbling of Emily's stomach on which he had rested his head drew him out of his dreams. He smiled, rolled off her and sat up.

"George?"

"You're hungry," he didn't turn, the sight of her partially naked on the ground did things to him, and he thought they should eat. At least they should eat before anything else.

"True," she mused, "first," she leapt up and ran to the creek and jumped in, "come on George!"

He shook his head and smiled as if at a wayward child and stood up, fastening his drawers before joining her in the cold water to wash away the smell of sex. They splashed and ducked each other until Emily said perhaps they had better see what else was in the basket, besides bread.

There was much to eat, cheese, cold meat, salad and fruit. Lucy had added a bottle of beer for George and some cordial for Emily. They cleared most of it then sat back to let it digest.

"I suppose we should be getting back," she sighed, "Mother will send out a search party."

"I bet she knows exactly where you are," George teased.

"Help me with this," she waved the corset at him, "at least give me an air of respectability in front of any farm hands we may meet."

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Dressed and perfectly respectable they strolled back to the family, hand in hand. The only indication that they had been near water was Emily's damp hair, no longer pinned up but hanging in dark waves down her back.

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Lucy smiled as her daughter entered the kitchen, shaking her head a little.

"Creek, pet?" she hummed, "hope you didn't scandalise George."

"I don't think so, mum," she grinned, "he's above that now."

"Good, dinner won't be long."

"I'll just go and tidy up, then," Emily put the basket on the kitchen table and headed up the back stairs.

"Me too," George mumbled and cleared his throat.

Lucy sighed, did they really think she didn't know what they had been up to? Emily had spent so much time growing up by the creek, she always felt drawn to the place. Lucy wasn't surprised, that was where her daughter was conceived, one glorious summer day almost twenty eight years ago. She and Thaddeus had gone riding one morning and stopped by the tree to water the horses and talk about how they would make the farm pay. It had been hot, Thaddeus filled his canteen from the creek and passed it to her, suggesting she take off her riding jacket and wipe his handkerchief over the back of her neck after he had soaked it in the water. He had tossed his jacket on the ground for her to sit on and they had sat in companionable silence for a while. Thaddeus had leaned over to kiss her, his new bride, and they had continued thusly until she was a little breathless. In the heat of that summer her corset, petticoats and other stuffy clothing was too much. She undid the top two buttons of her blouse and ... as she would say nine months later, the rest was not for public scrutiny.

Though Emily was the only child of the union they were happy and considered themselves blessed. The farm paid well and they lived in comfort. Supremely proud of their daughter and delighted in the two little orphans she had brought to them for grandchildren , life was truly wonderful.

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Emily stretched and opened her eyes to see her mother with a tray of tea.

"Morning, darling," Lucy smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "Breakfast in bed for you, got to keep you away from the groom."

They sipped their tea in silence each waiting for the other to speak. In the end it was Lucy.

"I hope you're not waiting for the mother of the bride speech," she hummed, "you being a doctor an' all. That and your trip to the creek yesterday."

Emily all but spluttered her tea out and blushed furiously.

"'Tis alright, my dear," Lucy touched her hand, "I know you ain't untouched, but ... just tell me it's only been George."

"Mother," Emily hissed, "what do you think of me?"

"Only the best, love," her mother put down her cup, "I know you wouldn't be so daft as to spread your favours. George is the son in law we could wish for, he loves you, and the little 'uns, is respectful and understanding. Your father and I, well we did talk about him, when you first brought him home and we came to the same feeling ... he will look after you, but won't stifle you, will support you and love you, and he is so much more than Jerome, who would have crushed you with ideas of propriety and high ideas. We are so proud of both of you."

Emily flung herself into her mother's arms and hugged her tightly.

"I tried to find my way, and I worried that I was getting it wrong and hurting you. Perhaps I was fated to go to London and find the children, it seemed to show me the way home - to you, to George - to who I am supposed to be." She pulled away and looked into her mother's eyes, "thanks, mum, for not judging me and for loving George and the children - for all that you and pa have done for me."

Lucy took a deep breath and straightened up, "Trouble with weddings, they make a mother go all maudlin. Right, a leisurely bath, then I'll see to your hair ..."

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Peter and Ruthie presented themselves to their mother half an hour before they were due to be at the church. Ruthie looked so sweet, with her dress pressed and fitting just how Emily had wanted. Her blond curls had become somewhat unruly as they grew out from the shaving, and Rachel had quite a time of it, tying them in ribbons and plaiting them. For this special occasion she had tied the front off her head and given them a severe brushing so they bounced round her face and down to her shoulders. Peter stood fingering his collar and rubbing the tops of his boots on the back of his smartly pressed trousers. He wore a smart suit, long trousers and a well fitted jacket and his hair was tamped down with pomade. Emily was under no illusion that this would last for the duration of the ceremony and after that he would eschew the tie and shrug the jacket, and that was fine, by her.

Emily was still in her undergarments and robe, she would not show herself in her dress to anyone but her mother until she stepped into the buggy her father had dressed with flowers. This was a proper country wedding, the whole town would turn out ... the Grace family were appreciated for their presence, employing local men and supporting charities and good deeds. Emily had been educated in the small school and all her young friends had been delighted when she had won a place at the Toronto School of Medicine. There would always be those who were jealous of her success, but she paid them no never mind.

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Lucy handed her into the buggy. "May you be as happy as I have been these many a year, Emily, god bless you."

Emily embraced her and kissed her cheek, "I believe I shall be, mother mine, and I thank you for believing in me."

"Always, love, always." She headed off to arrive at the church shortly before her daughter.

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Henry and Detective Murdoch had taken George to the church early enough for the nerves to start. Julia had the children waiting at the church door for their mother and grandfather.

Emily looked beautiful, she thought, as her father helped her down off the buggy. She set the dress right and the children in place before placing a kiss on Emily's cheek and slipping down the side of the church to sit on the front pew.

The wedding march struck up, played by the local organist who had been practising ever since the banns were read. He remembered trying to teach Miss Emily to play the piano when she was young but she had no aptitude for it, she had a lovely singing voice though and he had been glad when she snuck into the choir.

George risked a quick look and gasped at the sight before him. Thaddeus looked so proud of her and she was so pretty, no veil to hide her loveliness, just a simple circlet of flowers. When she reached him she handed her bouquet to her mother, who, true to Emily's conversation with him over bridesmaids, was weeping quietly into a lace handkerchief. Julia took the children to sit with her, Ruthie on her knee.

The ceremony passed in a mist for them both, barely remembering saying their vows until Father O'Brien suggested George could kiss the bride, which he did - gently, almost chastely.

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They exited the church into bright sunshine and the local people cheering and applauding and throwing flowers and petals. George handed his wife into the buggy and they drove back to the farm and the hay barn.

"Well, Dr Crabtree," George smiled, "are you alright?"

"I think so, I think that may have been the easy part of the day, hope you have your dancing feet with you," she teased.

"Why?"

"These country wedding parties go on long into the evening, it's not just those who have been formally invited, the local people, those I have known all my life will be here to wish us well - look at the amount of food mother and her friends had prepared, enough to feed an army." She waved her hand into the barn.

The barn was laid out with trestle tables laden with all manner of food: pies and flans, sandwiches, bread, cheeses and cold meats. Fruits and vegetables, salads. Champagne to toast the happy couple, wines and beers, lemonade and cordials were set out on a separate table, and in the centre of everything was a three tier cake, smoothly iced and decorated with sugar roses This would be no formal meal, this was a party, a celebration.

There were tables and chairs set out around the room, hay bales positioned here and there as additional seating and at the far end Thaddeus and Lucy had press ganged a group of local musicians to provided further merriment and music to dance to.

They greeted their guests and thank them for their good wishes. George was introduced to the people who had helped shape the woman who had become his wife, including, to Emily's great surprise, Albert and Adelaide Green.

"How? When?" Emily gasped as she hugged them both.

"Your mother," Adelaide held her at arm's length, "she wrote and told us you were to be married and asked if we would be able to attend. Of course Albert has had to take a lot of leave, but we wouldn't miss it for the world. You look lovely, my dear, we are so very, very happy for you."

"Thank you, I am so glad you could be here, now ..."

"We shall talk later, I see two little monkeys over there that we should like to reacquaint ourselves with." Next to Julia, Peter and Ruthie were jumping up and down and pointing at the couple who they regarded as another set of grandparents.

Time flew by. With catching up with old friends and introducing her husband to them, dancing, including the first dance, a waltz of course, then much more merriment and her father's mercifully short speech where he praised his daughter, thanked her for bringing the children into their lives and George, told him he was welcomed into the family and finished with a toast to the happy couple.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw the children running around between new friends and old, Peter had indeed shed the jacket and tie and Ruthie's ribbons were a little askew. Rachel would take them to bed when they were too tired to stand up and she and George ... yes, where were they going? She had mumbled something to him about spending their wedding night away from any possible disturbance and he had just tapped the side of his nose and grinned, as if he had something up his sleeve, but he would not be drawn.

She managed to have a conversation with Albert and Adelaide, about how things were in their corner of London. They had decided to take in a couple more nurses as lodgers, for the company.

"We are here for another two weeks, my dear," Adelaide touched her arm, "I'm sure we will be able to have a longer talk at some time. For now ..." she waved at the revellers, "you have guests to attend to."

"It's a bit of a riot, isn't it," Emily laughed, "I'm afraid this is what happens round here."

"I think it's lovely, so light and full of joy, as it should be," Adelaide agreed, "it's a wedding, not a wake."

"Quite," Emily kissed her cheek and headed back to George who was apparently in a deep conversation with one of the local booksellers. He looked up as she approached and smiled, he felt he had not stopped smiling all day.

"Hello, Mr Epstein," she greeted the older man, "I hope George isn't trying to get you to stock his books?"

"Indeed, Miss Emily," the gentleman bowed a little bow, "I already stock his 'Adventures for Boys', quite a popular publication. But this is your wedding, my dear, and not a time for doing business." He shook George's hand, "good to have met you, son."

"Well, Emily," George took her hand, "the children have been taken to bed I think it is time we left." He had a twinkle in his eye. She pursed her lips, what was he up to? Oh yes, they should leave before everybody else, odd as it was to have your children put to bed on your wedding night, but were they to return to the main house?

They stepped across to Lucy and Thaddeus and George said they would take their leave now.

"Of course," Thaddeus smiled conspiratorially.

"Thank you both," Emily thought her father was being perhaps a little wicked in thought, "for making the day truly wonderful." She leaned in and kissed her mother's cheek.

"Be happy, my dears," she kissed them both and watched as George handed Emily into the buggy.

Before he took the reins he removed a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and turned to her.

"Trust me?"

"Of course, what ... oh!" she gasped as he tied the silk across her eyes. "George?"

"Don't worry, this is probably the last secret I shall have from you, now, hold on."

"Oh!" she squeaked as the buggy took off rather more quickly than it had on the way back from church.

She couldn't work out the direction they were heading in, but it seemed they were going further than the house, her curiosity threatened to take over.

"George?"

"Soon be there, love," he slowed the buggy down and it stopped gently. "See."

"Actually, George, I can't," she touched the blindfold.

"Ha ha," he laughed, "now let me help you down ... steady ... foot here ... and there you are."

He position facing in the right direction, inhaled and removed the blindfold.

"George" she put her hand to her mouth, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, "it's lovely, but how?"

They stood in front of one of the workers cottages, seldom used. There were flowers round the door and along the window sills - it looked like something from a fairy tale.

"Later," he stood in front of her and suddenly swept her over his left shoulder, the uninjured one, and strode into the cottage as she beat her fists against his back.

"George Crabtree! Put me down this instance!"

He just laughed, this was the only way he could carry her over the threshold, no would be assassin was going to deny him this pleasure.

He placed her gently down and turned her to face the room. It was a living kitchen, a range and sink to one side and table chairs and couch to the other. There were flowers everywhere, pretty drapes at the windows, light furnishings and two oil lamps flickered in the slowly fading light of day. He put his arms round her and linked his hands over her waist.

"Like it?" he nuzzled her hair.

"It's absolutely lovely," she breathed.

He took her hand, "Glad you approve, now, this is our wedding night ..."

She giggled and followed obediently into the only other room in the building. It was smaller than she remembered it, a portion seemed to have been separated by a new wall in which there was a door. The room they now stood in was furnished with an iron framed bed: frilled white pillows, a patchwork cover with fabrics she recognised from her early life was draped over the top, hiding the blankets and sheets. Her mother must have been making the cover for years, each patch was from her dresses, blouses and skirts that she had worn (and torn) over the years until she had left home to study medicine. There was a bedside cabinet each side of the bed with a small oil lamp on each, rugs on the floor and, because it was summer and the weather was warm, flowers set in the fireplace, either side of which was a small arm chair.

As she took in the sight George removed his jacket and tie and rubbed his neck - the collar had been rather stiffer than he was used to but he wanted to look his best for her. She barely noticed his light touch as he removed the pins from her hair which tumbled down her back. He loved her hair to be loose or just tied back with a simple ribbon. He lifted the circlet off her head but left the little silk rosebuds that had been pinned into the waves. She turned and linked her hands behind his head.

"Is this all real?"

"Very much so, your father started it as soon as we decided to be married here and I helped him finish it off while you were still in Toronto." He kissed the tip of her nose.

"Thank you, but how did you stop the children giving it away?"

"They thought I was writing and needed peace and quiet," his hands wandered down her back to her bottom and squeezed through the layers of satin skirt and calico petticoat.

"So, Constable ..." she hummed.

"Doctor ..." he pressed his lips to hers ...

In the quiet of the room, away from any chance of interruption, their love making was slow. They took it in turns to remove a piece of the others clothing, kissing long and deep in between each garment, touching and kissing the exposed flesh until completely naked. George flung back the covers on the bed and reverently lay his wife down. He lay next to her and pulled her close his hardness pressed against her, hot and twitching.

He took her over the edge of an abyss with his fingers, his mouth, leaving her barely able to breathe. He came back up to her mouth and kissed her. She could taste herself on his tongue, something she was getting used to. She slipped her hand down to wrap it round his member and stroked the tip with her thumb. He swallowed and rolled onto his back, pulling her over him. She settled, knees either side of his hips and lifted herself over him, teased him until he grabbed her buttocks and groaned her name. She guided him in and started to rock above him. He held her by the waist and thrust up into her, watching her small breasts move in time with the rhythm. As she neared her point of release the rhythm increased until she arched and cried out his name and with one final thrust he spilled his seed into her and she collapsed on him, holding him inside her until she could hold on no longer.

They lay curled together, sated. George pulled the covers over them and they drifted off into dreams of weddings and families, babies and children.

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The morning sunlight, sneaking between the curtains, fell across two bodies. One lay over the other, head on the chest and legs entangled with her lover whose gentle rumblings broke the silence like distant, but unthreatening, thunder. The covers rumpled over them rose and fell with their breathing but otherwise all was still.

Emily murmured and stirred, rolled off George's chest and blinked. From the sound of it George was still asleep but she had to attend to her needs, her bladder insisted. These cottages had outside lavatories and she wondered how she would get there given she had not packed an overnight bag. She sat up and looked around then smirked. So much planning had gone into her wedding there was her robe on the back of the door. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her sleeping husband and wrapped the silk robe around her. She looked over at the bed then remembered the new wall and door. Curiosity piqued she crossed the room and opened the door. Aha! no need to venture outside, there was a small bathroom, newly made. A toilet, washbasin and small shower that her father would no doubt have built and knowing George he had colluded with Detective Murdoch on how to make a bathroom in such a small space.

She used the lavatory and washed her hands, regarding her reflection in the small mirror. Her robe fell open and revealed the marks George had left on her breasts and probably further down. She sniggered, hopefully her dress would hide such evidence.

"Ah, there you are," George was sitting up in the bed, sporting quite a few marks of his own. She blushed.

"George," she ran to his side of the bed and sat down, flinging herself over him, "all this, for me? For us?"

"Our little refuge, when we need it," he hugged her and kissed her forehead, "though I am surprised the detective was able to keep such a secret. He designed and invented the shower so we would want for nothing."

"So that was why the Inspector kept intercepting me when I had an autopsy result," she threw back her head and laughed.

George laughed with her, imagining Inspector Brackenreid leaping out of his chair, possibly dropping his whisky as he went to catch her before she spoke to Murdoch.

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There was more for them to discover. A sharp tap at the door had them cover up with robes before they opened it. When Emily opened the door there was nobody there just a basket of fresh baked bread, bacon, eggs, butter and milk. A canister of tea and jar of sugar completed the gift, all they would need for breakfast. George teased her about her cooking skills at which she raised the frying pan and threatened him with it.

"I'll have you know, George Crabtree," she huffed, "I am more than capable of cooking breakfast, and dinner too. I am a farmer's daughter, remember."

"Guess I'm on washing up duty then," he took the pan off her and set it down on the range.

"Get the range lit," she laughed, "we can't do anything yet."

"Well, while it heats up ..." he grabbed her by the waist and she screamed his name.

He lit the range and made sure it had caught and would burn well then lifted Emily up over his shoulder, again, and carried her back to bed.

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A good couple of hours and more marks later Emily placed bacon and eggs on the table and a pot of tea. George cut good thick slices of the bread and they spread it generously with the butter and tucked in to their first meal as a married couple. It was a scene of gentle domesticity that they both found relaxing and quite satisfying.

As George put the last pot back in its place Emily returned from the bathroom, showered and in her camisole and drawers under her robe.

"That shower is perfect," she dragged a brush through her hair, "I feel thoroughly refreshed."

"Did you find everything you needed?" he folded the cloth and draped it over the edge of the sink.

"I did, I suppose I have been hijacked," she smiled, "the clothes I need for at least one more day, all my toiletries ... it's a conspiracy." She threw her hands up in mock despair.

"Well, really, I thought we should wake up together, without the children possibly leaping onto the bed - much as I love them - and enquiring into our lack of nightclothes ..." he laughed, "now, my turn for the bathroom and then perhaps a turn up to the house to return the basket..."

"Alright, but can you re-lace my corset, please, then I can dress while you shower."

"Gladly, my lady," he bowed, "I shall have even more fun unlacing it tonight."

"George, behave ..."

He pouted.

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The day was bright and warm with a light breeze, the farm was busy and the workers nodded to them as they passed by. They nodded back, pleased that there were no cheeky looks or whisperings as they walked hand in hand past the barns towards the house.

As they passed one of the barns a figure burst out, brandishing a shotgun - Louise Cherry!

"Thought you'd managed to lose me, eh, Constable?" she snapped.

"Actually, I thought it was the other way round," he replied coolly, "you lost us. Now put that down ..."

She pointed it at him and he really wondered if this was the end and he was going to leave Emily a widow after less than twenty four hours.

A shout went up from the direction of the house.

"Mama!" Ruthie ran down the steps, "mama!"

"Ruthie! No!" Emily started to move forward but Louise waved the shotgun at her.

Ruthie had lost one mother she wasn't about to lose another, and, small as she was she was determined to help. She knew that George had been shot because neither he nor Emily had tried to hide it from them. But she was angry, angry that this woman should try to take something from her that she needed, that she wanted, that she loved. She ignored her mother's warning and ran right up to Louise who was now waving the gun around wildly, not sure where to point it - at a child, a newly married woman or the man who had turned down her offer to raise his standing in society.

"You shooted my new papa!" Ruthie stood in front of her and swung her leg back. "You're a bad lady!" She kicked her, in the shin, her little feet sharp in the boots she wore had Louise gasp and stagger back.

George took advantage of her momentary shock and reached out to take the gun from her. He thought he should be embarrassed at having his life saved by a five year old, but, beggars can't be choosers and he decided to overlook it. Perhaps a stern word with the child about confronting gun wielding persons would be enough. He had no handcuffs on him but his grip on Louise's elbow kept her still.

Emily swept her daughter into her arms and kissed her all over her little face. It had not gone unnoticed she had referred to George as her 'new papa' and she was surprised and delighted that Ruthie should regard him as such.

Lucy and Peter came out of the house to see what all the fuss was and stopped in their tracks. George handed her the shotgun and asked her to ensure it was unloaded.

"... then we'd best call Inspector Brackenreid and Detective Murdoch," he looked back at Emily, "I think Ruthie deserves a reward, eh?"

"Indeed, George," Emily sighed, "let's go inside, perhaps father will have something to restrain Miss Cherry with."

"I offered you so much more than ... than this," Louise waved her hand at Emily and the farmhouse, "raise you up ..."

"I am a police officer, Miss Cherry, proud to be so," he huffed, "and this," he waved his free arm, "is better than hob-nobbing with those that don't care to get their hands dirty but who live off the backs of such as these. These people are real, Louise, they are what Canada is made of and I am proud to serve them, to keep them safe, uphold the law."

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Lucy was already on the telephone to Station House 4 when they stepped into the hall. She nodded to the back parlour and continued talking.

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Inspector Brackenreid gasped as he listened to Mrs Grace describe the apprehension of Louise Cherry.

"Ruthie, that sweet little girl," he whistled, "well I shall remember to treat her with the utmost respect. I'll come over with a couple of constables, can you keep her until we get there?"

He smiled as she told him they had some good strong rope with which to bind her should she try to escape, but even if she did there were plenty of men around that would soon catch her.

"Right!" he strode out of his office, "Higgins and you, McNabb; you're with me. Miss Cherry has been apprehended at the Grace farm. Nobody got hurt," he held his hands up as everyone remembered just where George was, "well, except her, little Miss Ruthie apparently got the boot in. She kicked her and told her she was a 'bad lady'."

There was a pause and then gales of laughter at the idea. Both children had stolen their hearts but Ruthie, quiet little Ruthie, was special to them.

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Thaddeus sent George and Emily out of the back parlour, he would stay with Louise. She could see he was a proud man and had worked hard to provide his wife and daughter with the life they deserved. She could look down on him as a simple farmer as much as she wished, but he took no notice, he looked down on her as a criminal, a would be murderer but at the same time was sorry she had come to this, through jealousy.

They heard the carriage bearing Inspector Brackenreid and the constables pull up at the door. Ruthie was heard to shout to Lucy that there were visitors.

"Oh," she squealed, "it's Uncle Brack," as she had taken to calling the Inspector, "'n' Henry," she looked McNabb up and down, "an' 'nother one."

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After hearing the whole tale and praising Ruthie, Henry and Constable McNabb took Louise out to the carriage and off back to Toronto and the cells at Station House 4. The Inspector opted to take up the offer of a horse and ride back later.

"Now then, Miss Ruthie," he sat down on a couch and drew her to him, "you know that guns are dangerous."

She nodded and tipped her head to one side, waiting to hear what he had to say to her.

"George ..."

"Papa," she interrupted him.

"Er, right, yes, papa, was hurt because of Miss Cherry shooting him ..."

"Is that the bad lady's name?"

"It is," he nodded, "she could have hurt you, too."

"But she was going to hurt mama and papa," she pouted.

"Maybe, but maybe George ... papa ... could have stopped her." He pulled her onto his knee, "sweetheart, you have to be very careful, with guns and bad people ..."

"Can I be a police lady when I grow up, Uncle Brack?"

"Well, we don't have police ladies, not yet, anyway," he smiled, "perhaps when you do grow up we will have and I suppose you could be."

"Ok ..."

"Now, promise me you won't try to stop any bad people, at least not until you are bigger," he could see he wasn't going to get much further, Ruthie, it appeared, was a very determined young lady.

"I'll try," she wriggled, "can I go and play now?"

"Off you go," he set her down on her feet and watched her run off to find Peter, he supposed.

"Dark horse, that one," Lucy stood by the doorway, "tea?"

"Thank you," he smiled, "she's quite a little character, you'd almost think she actually was theirs."

"True."

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Emily and George had gone to sit on her bed upstairs. They could be on their own yet close enough should anyone need to talk to them.

"I always thought nothing could touch me here," she got up and stood looking out of the window, "and lately that the children would be safe here, too."

"They are, and so are you," George stood behind her, "nobody here would harm a hair on a head."

"She would," she inclined her head in the direction of the lower floor.

"She is obviously not quite right, in the head, y'know," he nuzzled just behind her ear, "she doesn't like any of my friends, thinks Detective Murdoch and Dr Ogden are boring ..."

"Really," Emily turned her head, "I always thought the detective was quite fascinating, sometimes amusing, with his schemes and inventions."

"They are both clever people ..."

"Perhaps she felt out of her depth ..."

"Perhaps ... but we need pay her no never mind, dear wife," he kissed her softly on her forehead, "she will be dealt with by the law and is unlikely to trouble us in the future."

"I thought I was going to lose you," she said in a small voice, "I couldn't bear that - George ...," she sniffed, no longer able to hold back the tears.

He wrapped his arms round her, "I'm not going anywhere," he stroked her hair and kissed her. She cuddled into his chest and listened to the beat of his heart, that Louise had wanted to stop.

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They were quiet at dinner, Emily had Ruthie sit next to her, still hardly believing the little girl had so much inside of her that she would defend her mama and new papa without thought for her own safety. True she was too young to really understand but Emily, and George, found it remarkable that someone so young should put herself in the path of a bullet. Ruthie seemed completely unfazed by the whole episode and chattered away to her grandpapa about the new cows he was going to get.

Peter was a little less enthusiastic about his sister's actions, he knew how dangerous it had been.

"Mum," he stabbed at a vegetable, "when we go back to Toronto, what will happen to her?"

"She will be tried, in court, for attempted murder, I suppose," Emily hummed, looking at George for confirmation, "then, I guess she will go to prison, if she's found guilty."

"So, we won't see her again?"

"I hope not, unless I have to go to court, but you shouldn't have to see her," she smiled, "don't worry, sweetheart, Louise Cherry will not trouble us again."

Peter hummed and thought he'd believe it when he saw it, or not, as the case may be.

"There is enough evidence to convict her, Peter," George agreed, "and plenty of witnesses to what she did today. She didn't deny she tried to kill me ..."

"S'ppose."

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Peter's dreams weren't particularly pleasant, that night, but they didn't wake him. He dreamt he saw his mother and George lying on the floor with Louise Cherry standing over them. There was no blood and no gun but Ruthie entered the scene and kicked her - she melted into the mist and George and Emily stood up. It was all a bit odd, he thought briefly, when he woke up.

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Emily turned over and found the space beside her empty. She pushed herself up and wrapped the sheet round her, covering her nakedness while she wondered where her husband was. There were noises coming from the other room, soft scrapings of pans, or the kettle, as if whoever it was was trying not to be heard. The sunlight was creeping through the gap in the curtains, the day had begun

"Ah, you're awake," George appeared in the doorway, a tea tray in his hands and a smile on his face. "I didn't want to disturb you, you looked so peaceful, and it was the early hours ..."

She blushed remembering how they had reminded themselves they were still alive. She pulled the covers back so he could return to bed.

"Thought you might like some tea ..."

"Lovely," she smiled, and watched him settle the tray on his knees and pour the drink.

"I suppose we'd better think about joining the real world again," he mused.

"Start to live like a real family, you mean," she sipped her tea, "are you ready to go back on duty?"

"The shoulder feels ok," he rolled it round, "what does my doctor say?"

"It doesn't seem to hamper you," she smirked, "perhaps I'd best examine it, just to be sure, y'know."

He took her cup off her and set the tray down on the floor, "do your worst, doctor," he lay back on the pillows.

Her worst didn't hurt at all, and afterwards he commented that she hadn't really looked at his shoulder much at all, except to kiss it a couple of times.

"Oh, I was just seeing how much flexibility you have," she tossed her head, "you seem to be just fine - though we could check again."

"Woman," he growled, "you're insatiable."

"You didn't seem to mind last night, or early this morning," she looked down on him and wriggled, "or now, it would appear."

He rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs, "You'll be the death of me, Emily Crabtree," he slipped his hand down and started to stroke her folds.

"What a way to go," she moaned, "oh George ..."


End file.
